So She Planted Sunflowers

 

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Sunflowers

It’s 25 degrees outside
cold as January is, biting winds
so today she planted Sunflower seeds.

Helianthus with the brown faces
and bright yellow rays
will soon atone for absent sun.

Lonely fields empty, frozen
garden life suspended
so today she planted Sunflower seeds.

Mostly a defiant act
their growth to be offered as proof
that winter and death do not control her heart.

© poem and photo by caf

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Coyote Wind

Jan Wild Moon

Coyote Wind

Did you hear the wind last night
howling up the creek
whistling in the snowy, twig shaped shadows
of January’s full moon?

Did you see the moon
last blustering night
brazenly brightening the deep sky
dark of clouds?

One time, when the gale quieted
and all sound was frozen silent
I slipped outside in time to see
a Screech Owl fly stage front shrieking
“Wild, wild everything is wild!
Everything is wild!”

The wind rose again as I huddled under a tree
It pushed me through a tunnel
into the reckless freedom of space and adventure,
shattering the stale sameness
that orbits everyday life.
It sang a new way into being and then,
returned me to my bed, freshened,
where the barking spirit of Coyote
stalked my sleep
and dreams dripped into an awakened life.

©Carole Fults photo and poem

Angel of the Labyrinth

Labyrinth Angel 1

I walked the labyrinth with your hand in my pocket
and your voice on my shoulder.
Your shoes walked with me
and we saw that there are barriers in life
and you can jump them sometimes if you want,
but if you do you find yourself someplace
you were supposed to be earlier or later
but not now.
The smoothest way in or out is to follow the path
without leaping the stones, though you know you can,
until you reach the center
where the way of return is not what you think
and is unrecognizable, although it mirrors the way in.
If you don’t follow the path you could be lost in the maze.
I heard your voice say
“It takes a lot of patience, but
what else are we here to do, except follow the path to its end
where it begins again, notice what’s in our way
one foot, then the other
breathing, opening, paying attention.”
I say “I’m so happy to have you on this path with me, so glad you return when I call you, and wistful when you go.”
Tell me a truth”, I say to you
“Tell me what you’ve learned over there after you finished the labyrinth.”
“Things just are” you reply. “Just look and enjoy, there is nothing else to know.”

CAF

©Carole Fults photo and poem

Bittersweet

Bittersweet              

A Perfect Storm

Once a six month storm tore at her shutters
a hot and turbulent wind
pummeled the untanned hide that sheltered the door of a dark cave
wherein lived one of the world’s most illiterate hearts.

As she allowed the wind to help her dance in the trees
Her toughened pelt became soft as velvet
and as pliable as priceless leather
limp, whipped and limber.

In the aftermath of the thrashing torrent
tears kept her hardness soft
and as she walked in the forest
she saw Bittersweet
strewn on the path under her feet
and she rested with her eyes wide open.

©Carole Fults photo and poem

Periwinkle Wild Flowers

periwinkle wild flowers_edited-1

Periwinkle wild flowers
dying now
Drifting on the wind
a chickadee sings her winter song
Knowing I will also die
I listen.

©Carole Fults

Trees in the Ice

Trees in the Ice

Proof of Wind

Bits of evergreen litter the winter floor
white dunes of frozen drifted waves of snow greet her
like sand in an icy desert
Her bones dance clumsily down the path
as frigid air sneaks under her jacket
She was hoping to see a bobcat
but no other animals are up and about
except her and her companion
Even the birds are quiet as if the air has frozen their songs
pond waves do not slap, nor lap the shore
yet, she says, there is a presence here.
Not deer, nor bobcat
not bird nor bat nor bear
not even squirrel, fox, or beaver
Her breath is snatched out by air that flies around
from on high
a whooshing moaning sighing crying squeaking sound
whistling
Proof of wind
Evidence of spirit.

by caf

©Carole Fults